In the hours after you visit, when the smoke has settled and the dust from your departing feet don’t choke me anymore, a strange tiredness overcomes me. The kind that comes with inexplicable exhaustion and drains away the will to carry on that has taken me years to amass. In the time that has passed since I didn’t kiss you, my systems hibernate and leave me an empty plastic shell, waiting for a command that would bring me back to life again. Back to being useful and back to living the responsibilities that school requires of me. But no such instructions come and so I drift off in an uneasy sleep. A sort of inevitable dreamless rest that feels like a conditioned response more than a deliberate act of will. And then two hours later when the night has taken a turn towards the unpredictable, I wake up and my eyes won’t open. There’s also a nagging thirst for all things sinful and bad for my health that pitches camp in my throat. That urge and my laziness fight for a while before I decide that it is more torture than self discipline.
I find my way to the rooftops.
It is a little comical, mostly unbelievable how we ended up to be so confused. If there is anything that I can remember, is how clear and open we were to, by and in ourselves before. It was as rare as a blue moon what I thought we had. It was refreshingly calm. It was almost soothing. When you don’t have to wade through mixed signals or try and decipher the vaguest of hints, everything else seems to fall into shape like it was photoshoped. The days when I’d let you stare into my eyes without feeling splashes of shame paint the inside of my heart. I was free of the strangling guilt that waves from the other side of my hypocritical self when I try and read your eyes now. There is always this tension that hangs in the air when I accidentally brush across your bare skin. It’s like the remnants of a dying fire. The last sparks of an electrical upsurge that used to consume us. And I don’t know whether to rekindle the past or just let nature run its course. In my mind, I tell myself that in these times, you contemplate within yourself whether to play with the same fuel that burned you or to run away with the wind. In the little seconds before it is awkward and both of us are trying to rationalize our craving for self destruction, I see the time is indeed a severe master.
I find myself hoping that you still at least think of me.
A lifetime ago, when the world looked a little clearer and the picture of us a little blurry, I had made a choice. The choice to leave you behind. Now, I wish I had known better. I don’t regret it, no. I just sometimes think about it a little too much when I’m all by myself having one of those cigarettes we used to share. I wonder if it would have been any different now if you were still here, maybe I’d have learnt to be a little less restless, to be better or to be a little less so fucking indecisive. Maybe I’d be as calm in my heart as I was in my mind back then. But that’s just a lot of maybes in two sentences. It’s no way to live. What’s for sure opaque is the truth that I will never get to know what’s really true now. If I went numb all by myself or because of you. Sometimes, it feels like the way it feels when you took your coffee a little less hot one morning and try to tell yourself that it makes no much difference but that small feeling in you says you are trying to fool yourself. It’s a very nagging subconscious that you push away by the rational thought but then gets buried in your feelings and infects your peace.
It’s never about what you deserve or what you need. Getting who you deserved or who you wanted or even needed. You get the person you get and that was who you needed. You exist before your needs and so they do not control you. Even if your soul cheats you that they do. So now when you say that maybe we didn’t deserve each other or maybe I wanted you just a little bit more, it does not really matter. You keep living your life thinking of that one special someone whose imperfections would be beautiful. They will glow in the dark and like the misery moth you are, you will fly to your destruction and it will be biblical. Except it never happens like that. You meet someone whose faults make you down and out pissed or offended. The kind of feelings reserved for other normal human beings. Up to the point where you still in your steps and think, ‘This cannot be love, surely, can it be, if I still feel so unattracted to her right now.”
We are made in error. We are puppets of our natures and our natures are often not so gallant. We do not know every day that we undoubtedly feel a certain way about someone. There are days of serious turmoil that we go back and even question our own intentions. And therefore if we cannot trust ourselves how can we ever completely trust anyone? It is a default setting drawn into our DNA. We don’t change it; we just learn to live with it.
So I’m probably not healthy for you and you probably will be the death of me, probably we won’t survive three months and we’ll just blur each other’s focus but today and tonight, I know you are what I want. For a second for a minute, for a year and past infinity, and for all the possibilities in between. I am not the father of fate and I cannot chart a path for our happiness. We might be miserable in the morning, but baby, it ain’t morning yet.